


King of Ashes

by Vik_Mombuchika



Series: My Baby Shot Me Down - SpinOffs [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Mafia AU, some other OCs which might or might not be cannon fodder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vik_Mombuchika/pseuds/Vik_Mombuchika
Summary: How does it feel? To watch the floor crumble under your feet?How does it feel? To hear the walls around you collapse under the sound of heavy gunfire?How does it feel? Having to make decisions for men that are twice your age and have thrice your experience?How does it feel, to see them staring at you like deer caught in the headlights?How does it feel?Being on your own.-As a deal gone wrong marks the fall of the pakhan his father, Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov has to step up and take control of a kingdom that might as well turn to ashes in his hands.The young man once known as the Knife Boy, and then as the Living Legend, has to raise the stakes and secure a new title. Will he become the pakhan in St. Petersburg?(Part of a series but doesn't need to be read in order)





	1. Prologue - Lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gigue in St. Petersburg](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758505) by [Vik_Mombuchika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vik_Mombuchika/pseuds/Vik_Mombuchika). 



> I really have no excuses for keeping writing on this Mafia AU I first created with @eroslike on Tumblr for our RPs. Except perhaps that I can't stop working on this Viktor, which has somehow become a part of me (and that possibly says something about my sanity but ok).  
> "Knife Boy" is a nickname my friend @margheritaemmemandelli (Tumblr) created. I honestly owe her my life because it's so perf <3  
> And yes, as usual in this AU Sergej "Sephiroth" Nikiforov is Viktor's dad. Sue me.  
> -  
> Russian words are mostly translated within the text, but for general reference:  
> Pakhan: the boss of a russian mafia clan  
> (Solntsevskaja) Bratva: (Solntsevskaya) Brotherhood - the most important russian organized crime syndicate  
> Vor v zakone: Thief in law - a professional criminal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no excuses for keeping writing on this Mafia AU I first created with @eroslike on Tumblr for our RPs. Except perhaps that I can't stop working on this Viktor, which has somehow become a part of me (and that possibly says something about my sanity but ok).  
> "Knife Boy" is a nickname my friend @margheritaemmemandelli (Tumblr) created. I honestly owe her my life because it's so perf <3  
> And yes, as usual in this AU Sergej "Sephiroth" Nikiforov is Viktor's dad. Sue me.
> 
> -
> 
> Some organized crime references (most of which were googled):  
> Triad - the largest crime syndicate in China  
> Mountain Master - the title given to the boss of the Triad  
> (Solntsevskaja) Bratva= (Solntsevskaja) Brotherhood - the largest Russian crime syndicate  
> Pakhan - the boss of the bratva  
> Vor v zakone= Thief in law - a professional criminal  
> -
> 
> Some notes on characters' names/nicknames/diminutives and so on:
> 
> Viktor might be referred to as -  
> 1\. Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov (full name)  
> 2\. formal names: Viktor Sergeevich (with patronymic) or Viktor Nikiforov (with surname)  
> 3\. diminutives: Vitja (russian nickname), Vik (used mostly by Chris, who speaks Russian but maintains 'european' nicknaming habits)  
> 4\. nicknames by which he's known on the organized crime scene: Knife Boy (older one), Living Legend
> 
> Viktor's father (Sergeij "Sephiroth" Nikiforov):  
> 1\. Sergeij Nikiforov (full name, no patronymic present as nothing is know of his father)  
> 2\. Sephiroth (nickname coming from his KGB days)

_Howl, seven days to the Wolves_

_Where will we be when they come?_

Nightwish - 7 Days to the Wolves

 

“We are four men down, sir. Grigorij died in the night. Internal bleeding.”

_How does it feel? To watch the floor crumble under your feet?_

 “Vitalij might not make it either, and surely he won’t be able to move anytime soon, not with that mangled leg…”

“That leaves us with seven men, including me, you and old man Yakov, Vik. What do you want to do?”

_How does it feel? To hear the walls around you collapse under the sound of heavy gunfire?_

“Any news from Sephiroth?”

“Dead as a tomb.”

“Giacometti!”

“Just a figure of speech, old man. But the alternative isn’t much better.”

“Mr. Feltsman, sir! It was just announced on Moskva 24! Sephiroth has been caught in the blitz, he’s been put under maximum security.”

“ _Blyad’[Shit]_! What the hell is Petrov doing?!”

 “Vik, shouldn’t we call Mr. President?”

_How does it feel? Having to make decisions for men that are twice your age and have thrice your experience?_

“Genesis Rhapsodos?”

“Nothing from him, sir, and he wasn’t mentioned in the news.”

“Tch. He went off radar. We can’t count on him.”

“Then who? We need to know what’s going on before we make a move. Vik, what do you think?”

_How does it feel, to see them staring at you like deer caught in the headlights?_

“Our men in Moscow will be disbanding by now. We need to give them a signal, Viktor.”

“Vik, we can’t go back to Moscow without knowing what the situation is there, it’s too dangerous.”

_How does it feel?_

 “You can’t let the bratva fall apart, Viktor!”

_Being on your own._

“Viktor!”

Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov rose from the floor over the cacophony of his panicking men, his hair a blur of silver cascading behind him.

“Contact Lightning.”

 --- 

_Lightning. It flashes bright, then fades away._

Sasha Kuznetsova, codename Lightning, looked out of the window as her flight left Sheremetjevo, west-bound, navigating past a thunderstorm. Snuggling a gun on-board hadn’t been hard, not with all the connections she had, even without bringing Sephiroth’s name to the table.

She felt her chest constrict at the thought of her General, and her hand went by reflex to her purse, where she kept her Beretta Nano. One of the General’s gifts, her favourite handgun.

Sasha allowed herself a smile as her fingers caressed the comforting weight of the Beretta.

She was possibly the only one who thought of Sephiroth as “the General”. She had heard Genesis Rhapsodos playfully calling him like that once, even though Sephiroth had never made it to the General title in his army years. Even though “general” wasn’t a rank in the bratva either. So it must have all been a creation of Genesis Rhapsodos’s too sharp mind. Nevertheless, at least in Sasha’s head, the name had stuck.

Lightning, in the clouds below them, struck again as the plane drew a circle before setting on its intended course. New York. And, from there, Detroit.

Where the General’s son had last been seen alive.

 _Lightning. It flashes bright, then fades away. It can't_ _protect. It only destroys._

A fitting description, Sasha thought. Indeed, she was a fitting tribute to that old videogame character Chris had told her about when helping her choose her codename.

Lightning.

Sephiroth’s most trusted hitman.

 _It can't_ _protect. It only destroys._

Her purse was heavy on her legs, and not because of her Beretta.

 _It can't_ _protect._

Sasha took the ring out of the purse, hanged it on a long silver chain, and put the makeshift necklace on.

With the ring safely hidden against her chest (admittedly, the shirt and suit she had used as her cover served the purpose just as well as her usual sweaters, at least with the help of a decent push-up bra to compensate for a despicable lack in… womanly endowments), Sasha relaxed back in her seat.

_It only destroys._

Viktor was alive. Had to be.

And she would find a way to do better than her namesake.

 --- 

It was after midnight of the third day -yes, by that time Viktor and his men had started counting the days of their hiding- that they heard a familiar knock on the door and, after a quick exchange of passwords, Chris finally got in with a new visitor in tow.

“It was dangerous, sending out for me like that. They could easily retrace the message to your location.” Sasha said, pulling down the hood of her raincoat and facing Viktor, who had risen to greet her.

“That’s why we changed it immediately thereafter.”

“You left clues though.”

“Oh, but I was counting on you picking up on them much quicker than any yellow-face out there. And indeed, here you are, and they are not.”

Viktor grinned and opened his arms, greeting Sasha with the three-kisses custom usually reserved between men.

Sasha chuckled.

“You never change, _malysh [boy]_.”

“Take those wet clothes off and take a seat with us, we were just about to brew tea.” Viktor motioned to the table where Yakov had been sitting, in the middle of a soberly furnished living room. “I admit the location is subpar when compared with our Neva house, but we should not forget our manners. And I reckon we have a lot to talk about, so we might just as well make ourselves comfortable.”

 ---

And indeed, they had enough to talk about to last them through a third refill of their cups.

“They showed us a video, real time.” Lightning explained. “Sephiroth watched your men being gunned down, but he couldn’t see Viktor.”

“Stasik shielded him. It was a close call.” Chris answered for Viktor, who had been silent ever since inviting Sasha to their table.

“Old Stanislav Nikolaevich, may his soul rest in peace.” Yakov crossed himself. “Loyal old fella.”

“We saw nothing of that. Sephiroth was going for that damn yellow’s throat when we heard the sirens. They had set us up.”

“Fucking yellows…” Chris cursed. “I bet it was the Katsukis pulling strings, they have been strengthening their contacts within Interpol.”

“Oh, this is the Yakuza, flat and square. They have been picking fights with us ever since we set foot in Detroit, and after Hisato Katsuki’s death…” Yakov sighed. “And now they have involved the Triad as well. This is bad.”

“What about Genesis Rhapsodos?”

 “He’s safe, hiding. He wasn’t with us. As for me…”

“You aren’t a known face.” It was the first time Viktor had spoken since the beginning of the conversation, but he kept staring outside from a crack in the curtains. “How did it go again? Lightning. It flashes bright, then fades away. You stay in the shadows. You can move around unnoticed.” Viktor turned to face his father’s hitman. “That’s why _papa_ let you escape. To carry out his orders. What did he tell you?”

Sasha stood.

_It can't protect, it only destroys._

The metal against her chest seemed to burn.

 _“_ _Go to my son._ _”_

She took the chain off her neck and kept it in her closed fist.

“He told me to find you and give you this.”

 _“_ _He's_ _growing up, don't_ _you think, Lightning?_ _”_

There had been a shadow of a smile on Sephiroth’s face that day, as they came back from Viktor’s 25th birthday party.

 _“_ _One day, Viktor will be sitting in my chair._ _”_

Sasha placed her carefully-guarded treasure in Viktor’s hands and suddenly felt a lump in her throat.

 “And he told me to tell you that the world is yours to do with it as you please.”

 _“_ _He will be pakhan._ _”_

Sasha watched Viktor looking down at the thing in his hand. A ring flashed in the morning light, big and silver, with a black stone.

The pakhan’s ring.

 _“_ _And you, Sasha? Where will you be, when the time comes?_ _”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lighting was first based on THAT ONE Lighting from FFXIII, yes. Then I decided to give her role to my friend Ruby's OC Sasha (she will also cosplay as her sooner or later and I am so terribly excited and honoured tbh), because she deserved it after spending nights after nights hearing about my rants on this AU (plus she is responsible for co-creating the background history for Seph and Gen). She still kept the nickname though.  
> Also yes, I am still waiting for the FFVII fandom to come after my sorry ass for using Sephiroth as Vik's father. They are right. I am (not really) sorry. Honestly, the resemblance is uncanny.  
> Of course, if you have any thoughts, feedback or just wanna have a chat, review, or hit me on Tumbrl (@mombuchika)! Let me know what you think of this!  
> -  
> CREDITS:  
> The idea for this AU was born for a RP with @eroslike on Tumblr. With her I mostly wrote the Viktuuri part (which happens in the future of this fic's timeline) and devised the basic idea behind the characters' backgrounds.  
> My friend Ruby O'Bones (facebook) helped me create the background story for Seph/Gen. Plus the OC Sasha "Lightning" Kuznetsova is hers -we decided together to add it into the story (she created the background and we worked together to make it fit into this story).  
> "Knife Boy" nickname was created by my friend @margheritaemmemandelli (Tumblr) in one of our RPs.


	2. Act 1 - Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be one of Sergeij Nikiforov's greatest moves on the international scene of organized crime. And his son Viktor was supposed to be standing there at his right side for the first time in his life. So it was ok for him to be THIS excited... worried even... right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that in the prologue a lot of circumstances/new characters might have made it difficult to read/understand. Hopefully with this chapter things will start clearing out a bit.  
> Also there are hints of Sephesis in this chapter and I am not one bit ashamed. Viktor needed a mom after all, or at least someone to teach him how to live carefree.  
> Finally, I didn't explain this in the prologue but I decided to use "Viktor" instead of the common spelling "Victor" used in the YoI fandom to give this whole fic a 'different' feel; I wanted it to constitute a (kind of) dive into the world of Russian organized crime and graphic elements like these helped me getting in the right mood.
> 
> -
> 
> Some notes on characters' names/nicknames/diminutives and so on:
> 
> Viktor might be referred to as -  
> 1\. Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov (full name)  
> 2\. formal names: Viktor Sergeevich (with patronymic) or Viktor Nikiforov (with surname)  
> 3\. diminutives: Vitja (russian nickname), Vik (used mostly by Chris, who speaks Russian but maintains 'european' nicknaming habits)  
> 4\. nicknames by which he's known on the organized crime scene: Knife Boy (older one), Living Legend
> 
> Viktor's father (Sergeij "Sephiroth" Nikiforov):  
> 1\. Sergeij Nikiforov (full name, no patronymic present as nothing is know of his father)  
> 2\. Sephiroth (nickname coming from his KGB days)
> 
> Genesis (Sephiroth's kinda official partner):  
> 1\. Arkadij Valentjnovjch Leshenko (full name, including patronymic, which he rarely uses)  
> 2\. Genesis Rhapsodos (alias he started using after leaving the Army)
> 
> -
> 
> Some organized crime references (most of which were googled):  
> Triad - the largest crime syndicate in China  
> Mountain Master - the title given to the boss of the Triad  
> (Solntsevskaja) Bratva - the largest Russian crime syndicate  
> Pakhan - the boss of the bratva

 

_In a childlike illusion of life_

_He imagined the things yet to be_

_But they all disappeared on this night_

_Carry on among the forsaken_

Savatage – Man in the Mirror

 

The breeze was blowing through Viktor’s hair, making the long strands dance in the air, hiding and revealing his face in its successive gusts.

Viktor inhaled deeply, letting the smells of the Port of Detroit fill his nostrils, his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. He had underestimated Detroit’s weather. November chill in the city was nothing compared to Petersburg, of course, but it wasn’t something to be faced with just a t-shirt and jeans either.

Oh well, no big deal really.

It was 22:30. In a hour and a half, the cargo was bound to arrive. Then, it was just checking the goods, giving his father thumbs-up, and the deal would be done. Perhaps some hand-shaking would have to be involved, but hopefully (Viktor didn’t like shaking hands with the yellows, he got the feeling that they all sported sweaty palms -or at least the ones he had the displeasure of shaking hands with did) well, hopefully the most part of the hand-shaking would take place in Moscow, between his father and the Triad’s leader, old Ji Dong.

Easy-peasy.

Except it was not, oh-so-fucking- _not_.

Months of bargaining, of settling smaller disputes on a one-to-one basis, killing the smaller fly here, helping in bringing down the bigger fish there, months of trading on a too-fine line, hoping the rope would not break… that was what had brought them there. And the feeling when the last deal had been done, when the last arrangements had been made for the final trade to be set up, _well_. It had left a bad taste in Viktor’s mouth. As if something was off, as if it was strange to finally, _finally_ have everything settled.

But after all, it had been Viktor’s first time in participating in such large-scale negotiations, working as his father herald, so perhaps that was the real source of the young Nikiforov’s unrest. Perhaps it was just excitement.

He wondered if Sephiroth had shared his preoccupations, if the perhaps too tight squeeze on Viktor’s shoulder as the pakhan saw his son off on the flight to Detroit had meant something more than just the ritual “Take care”.

In any case, it wasn’t like they had many choices at this point. Viktor would oversee the first large-scale shipping of Russian weapons in Detroit, and then leave them in the Jis’ care, while Sephiroth, in Moscow, would check for himself the integrity of the organs coming from the Chinese black market. A good deal indeed, one which, once finally on the go, would greatly expand the bratva’s area of influence, something big enough to justify the involvement of both the pakhan and his heir together.

The wind blew harder in Viktor’s face, and his hair suddenly hid the view of the port.

“Nervous?”

Viktor smiled at his bodyguard, turning back to greet Chris Giacometti as the man took his place at Viktor’s side.

“Not enough to accept one of your cancer sticks.”

“You know vodka is just as bad.”

“Oh, Chris, we all know I’m going to die of a bullet through my head long before liver cirrhosis claims its toll on me.”

“Hah. Not on my watch.”

“Mh. A knife to my throat while I’m naked and tied to my bed, then, perhaps.”

“Now _this_ is being realistic, Vik.”

“You know, I might like that.”

“Oh, don’t we all wish to die with a good hard-on going?”

Viktor chortled, and Chris joined in.

The wind blew a stronger gust again, threatening to kill the fire of the Swiss bodyguard’s cigarette.

“We should get ready. The ship is bound to arrive soon. I want four snipers in place. Put Vanja, Micha, Boris and Redhead Slava on duty. The other five can come with me, you and Yakov.”

“Taking extra precautions? You told your father you would only need two on the roofs.”

Viktor took out his butterfly knife, letting it twist in his hand.

“Better safe than sorry. You never know what goes through a yellow’s head.”

 --- 

“The fact is, it’s so difficult sometimes to tell what goes through Viktor’s head, lately.”

“Tough shit, Seph.” Genesis Rhapsodos laughed, patting the pakhan’s thigh condescendingly. “Now you know how the rest of the world, including yours truly, feels when talking to you.”

Sephiroth glared at his lover.

“It’s something you get used to in time. Don’t worry. He’s still our little Vitja.”

“He seemed worried, when he left for Detroit.”

Genesis sighed as their car stopped in front of the Kindred Soul Community Hospital in Moscow.

“Vitja will be fine, Seph. He’s your son. Now, time for a little visit to our favourite clinic. Get in, check those hearts, and livers, and... ugh, whatever, get the deal done and get out. And don’t be late. Remember, I’m taking you out for dinner tonight. I reserved our usual table at Bon. And for when Vitja comes back…”

“The Bolshoi, of course. I know you always book for him in advance, Arkadij.”

Genesis’s mouth curved into a gentle smile as he heard his real name rolling from his lover’s lips, which he promptly decided to kiss before Sephiroth got out of the car, and four bodyguards stepped forward.

“Oh Sasha, good morning, dear.” Genesis saluted, the only one to notice the fifth presence between much bigger men in the pakhan’s escort.

“Have a nice day at work, darling.” he then teased. “I’ll be beating some Georgian asses while waiting for you. And don’t be too envious I get to do all the fun stuff. You were the one who decided to turn pakhan after all, Sergeij Nikiforov, _zvezda moya [my star]_.”

 --- 

“Ah! Vitkor Nikiforov! And how is your honoured father, the pakhan, doing these days, my dear friend?”

“Busy and living a hour flight away, Mr. Feng.” Viktor indulged Feng Xue, the older Ji representative. “In all truth, I believe your Mountain Master has heard more often from him than I do, recently.”

“Ah, of course, of course. Negotiations must have kept most of the pakhan’s attention these days, yes?”

Viktor frowned.

“I believe my father and Master Ji will both be a lot more at ease once this last formality is done and the deal is a-go. The ship arrived on time. It’s been a long day, Mr. Feng, I have a nice bottle of vodka waiting for me in my hotel room which I had shipped straight from Petersburg, and I can’t wait to tap into it. So let’s check the goods and get this over with, what do you say?”

 --- 

“I’m sure your son must be impatient to get through these formalities, Mr. Nikiforov. He’s an energetic young man, just like my Guang Hong, even though my child is far too young to be involved into such delicate affairs. But I’m sure you must be proud of how your Viktor conducted himself throughout all this matter.”

“I have always wanted Viktor Sergeevich to _earn_ his place as my heir, Master Ji, and I had him trained specifically for this.” Sephiroth commented, and hopefully the Triad’s leader had been too distracted by the implicit challenge the pakhan’s words held, to notice how Sephiroth’s voice had somewhat softened when pronouncing the patronymic.

“Mmh, indeed. And Viktor Sergeevich surely lived up to your expectations. Just as I hope my goods will.”

The tension in Sephiroth’s muscles seemed to give way at least a little as the conversation shifted to a less personal ground.

“After all the effort we both put into designing this deal, I would honestly be surprised if they weren’t. But of course, you won’t take offense in us wanting to check, just as your men are doing to our own shipments.”

“Of course, my dear friend, of course. This way.”

 --- 

“Make room.”

Viktor shouldered the rifle and aimed at a container on the far side of the warehouse. Just a slight press of the finger, and soon the metal wall was struggling to sustain the heavy fire.

“There you go.”

Viktor turned to the group of Chinese gangsters.

“I must admit, I am not the best shooter in our lot. But I’m sure you can see for yourself that even in my hands these little friends here can become pretty deadly.” He concluded as he proudly rested the butt of rifle on the floor. “So, can we consider this done on our side?”

Feng Xue clapped his hands.

“Impressive indeed. But perhaps my men want to try them themselves first.”

 --- 

“Oh, but perhaps you want to call your son first, before you can confirm that the deal is concluded.”

“That was exactly my intention, Master Ji.” Sephiroth agreed with a frown, as he took his cell phone out of his pocket, turning his attention away from the frozen organs the Chinese had been showing him.

“Oh, no need to inconvenience yourself. See, I already had a connection set up.” Ji Dong motioned for his secretary to bring up a tablet. “Feng Xue, my friend Sergej here would say a word to his son.”

 ---

“Ah, Viktor.” Feng Xue took out his phone and turned it so that the front camera framed Viktor. “Perhaps you want to say goodbye to your father, before it’s done.”

It was as he turned to face the Chinese, that Viktor’s ears registered the sound of rifles opening fire behind him, and he felt a big, heavy weight hitting him square in the back.

As soon as his body hit the floor, it all had gone black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think...?  
> -  
> CREDITS:  
> The idea for this AU was born for a RP with @eroslike on Tumblr. With her I mostly wrote the Viktuuri part (which happens in the future of this fic's timeline) and devised the basic idea behind the characters' backgrounds.  
> My friend Ruby O'Bones (facebook) helped me create the background story for Seph/Gen. Plus the OC Sasha "Lightning" Kuznetsova is hers -we decided together to add it into the story (she created the background and we worked together to make it fit into this story).  
> "Knife Boy" nickname was created by my friend @margheritaemmemandelli (Tumblr) in one of our RPs.


	3. Act 2 - Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you hit rock bottom, all you can do is climb up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope last chapter cleared things out a bit... for those who're sticking with me still.  
> If you do, and like this, please let me know!
> 
> \---  
> Some notes on characters' names/nicknames/diminutives and so on:
> 
> Viktor might be referred to as -  
> 1\. Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov (full name)  
> 2\. formal names: Viktor Sergeevich (with patronymic) or Viktor Nikiforov (with surname)  
> 3\. diminutives: Vitja (russian nickname), Vik (used mostly by Chris, who speaks Russian but maintains 'european' nicknaming habits)  
> 4\. nicknames by which he's known on the organized crime scene: Knife Boy (older one), Living Legend
> 
> Viktor's father (Sergeij "Sephiroth" Nikiforov):  
> 1\. Sergeij Nikiforov (full name, no patronymic present as nothing is know of his father)  
> 2\. Sephiroth (nickname coming from his KGB days)
> 
> Genesis (Sephiroth's kinda official partner):  
> 1\. Arkadij Valentjnovjch Leshenko (full name, including patronymic, which he rarely uses)  
> 2\. Genesis Rhapsodos (alias he started using after leaving the Army)-
> 
> \---  
> Some organized crime references (most of which were googled):  
> Triad - the largest crime syndicate in China  
> Mountain Master - the title given to the boss of the Triad  
> (Solntsevskaja) Bratva - the largest Russian crime syndicate  
> Pakhan - the boss of the bratva

_Jesus_

_What's the reason_

_For this child that will not survive_

_With all her dreams inside_

_Could she mean nothing to thee?_

Savatage – The Rumor

 

“Our men on the roof provided us with enough cover to retreat. We got Viktor, and ran.”

It was all a buzz in Viktor’s head, like the wind blowing strong on the Siberian taiga, that wind he had only heard of in his father’s stories. _Buran_.

It all registered in Viktor’s mind like a damaged tape. The story of how he, Viktor, had managed to survive the Triad’s betrayal (thank God he had placed four snipers on the roof and not just two, thank God and _Mama Sibir_ , for the two surviving ones had really saved their asses); the story of how his father, the mighty Sephiroth, had succumbed to the Yakuza’s plot.

Oh, Viktor got it all, of course, but his mind was also wandering far away, flying like a seagull on the wind blowing on the Neva in St. Petersburg as he, just six, watched enraptured the dance of his own hair in the breeze.

_“Papa, is it always so windy here in Petersburg?”_

_“St. Petersburg will be my gift to you, Viktor.”_

_“Vitja. Take your papa’s hand. You’ll fall on the ice.”_

_“Genesis and I will be waiting for you in Moscow once it’s done.”_

_“Papa, it’s done. St. Petersburg is ours.”_

_“One day, Viktor. One day, my kingdom will be yours.”_

_“Papa! I want to do ballet!”_

_“Take care, my son.”_

_…_ _You didn’t take enough care,_ papa _._

“…but he couldn’t see Viktor.”

The sound of his name broke through the young Nikiforov's consciousness all of a sudden.

“Stasik shielded him. It was a close call.”

“Old Stanislav Nikolaevich, may his soul rest in peace. Loyal old fella.”

Ah, yes. They were putting together the story of how the Nikiforov empire was crumbling under their feet.

It wasn’t difficult, imagining the scene: his father studying the frozen organs hidden in the refrigerators of the Kindred Soul, Ji Dong’s secretary showing him the live recording of Viktor’s men being slaughtered. Sephiroth lunging for the old Ji’s throat, threatening to rip his traitorous head off, when the first sirens outside broke as the police barged in.

And then blood, so much blood as Sephiroth himself shot one of the coppers in the head, clearing a way between the gunfire for himself and Lightning. Then the rush through the corridors, knowing it was late, too late, because they had it all on tape, oh, they surely had it, and the testimony of all the other members of the police force to corner him.

Finally, the hiding, the rushed command, Sephiroth ordering something to his most trusted hitman, watching Lightning disappear as someone broke through the door, the assassin’s retreat covered by the pakhan standing to face his captors, raising his hands in surrender, knowing that even if he managed to slip out, the Chinese outside would block his path and gun him down, because they wouldn’t leave the mighty Sephiroth any way of retreat, not when they knew perfectly well the whole planimetry of the building. Viktor himself had provided Feng Xue with it, as part of their agreement.

And they knew, oh, they all knew too well this was the Yakuza’s doing, the revenge the Katsuki family was exacting for the death of the _kumicho’_ s uncle. And to think Hisato Katsuki had just been a casualty, a bystander caught in the crossfire during one of the bratva’s showdowns with a group of Neonazi in Detroit.

“What about Genesis Rhapsodos?”

 “He’s safe, hiding. He wasn’t with us.”

Ah, Genesis, a good thing he never did what he was told. At least he hadn’t been involved, even though there was only so much he could do. Or would do, possibly. He wasn’t a _vor v zakone_ , after all, had never been.

But there was something more important now on which Viktor had to focus.

 _You failed,_ papa _. But I survived. Bet you were expecting me to. That’s why you let Lightning escape, didn’t you? You gave her a job. And me, as well._

Surely Sephiroth had a plan B. Surely he knew how to get out of this. Surely he had thought about it, and given his hitman instructions, and Viktor would just have to carry them out to get his father back.

“As for me…”

“You aren’t a known face.” Viktor’s voice suddenly commanded all attention on him. “How did it go again? Lightning. It flashes bright, then fades away. You stay in the shadows. You can move around unnoticed. That’s why _papa_ let you escape, to carry out his orders. What did he tell you?”

_What does he want me to do?_

Lightning stood, facing Viktor. Stepped forward. Deposited something in his hand, and even without seeing it -not yet, oh God, not _yet_ \- Viktor knew what it was.

“He told me to find you and give you this.”

_“One day, Viktor. One day my kingdom will be yours.”_

 “And he told me to tell you that the world is yours to do with it as you please.”

Viktor willed his hand not to shake as he opened his palm to reveal the pakhan’s ring.

“I see.”

_There has never been a plan B._

I _am your plan B._

 _God,_ papa _._

With the ring still on his open palm, Viktor turned to open the window and took a long, deep breath in the chill morning air.

“Can you smell it?”

If anyone had been tempted to suggest that, whatever Viktor was smelling, this might not be the safest thing to do in their circumstances, no one spoke.

“A wind of change is blowing.”

In a blur of silver, Viktor’s butterfly knife was out as his hair blew in the wind. Then, Viktor grabbed it, the long silver mane that had always been his pride, testament to his Nikiforov blood, and brought his blade to it.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to change as well.” he murmured.

It took so little, just the time for Yakov to hold his breath, for Chris to frown and cock his head to the side. For Lightning to nod and fist her hands. A swift move of the knife, and the long cascade of silver strands fell to the floor.

“Call my barber.”

 --- 

The barber had come and gone, then Lightning had disappeared for a while, returning only late in the afternoon with a series of bags in her hands.

All the while, Viktor had holed himself up in his room, with Yakov and Chris coming and going. But the pakhan’s ring still stayed on the living room table, together with Viktor’s butterfly knife, both untouched ever since the young Nikiforov left them there.

Then, as dusk fell, Viktor finally made his appearance. Even though even Chris for a moment doubted it was him. It was almost impossible to piece together the image of the man that showed up in front of them with that of the boy who had up until then led his suit-coated men dressed in a turtleneck and cargo pants.

The bangs covering part of Viktor’s left eye where the only trace left of his once long silver hair, which, now perfectly cut short in the back, gave his face a completely different feel. Perhaps, the only thing that helped his men recognize him in that moment were his tattoos: the wind stars on his clavicles, and the top of the skull at the centre of his chest, which the elegant shirt let loosely open under a sleek black suit jacket only partly revealed.

And the smile… That smile that had been wiped out of Viktor’s face when the Chinese had opened fire was back, now, and yet it wasn’t the same. There was nothing childish in the smile Viktor was sporting now, nothing innocently playful in his eyes as the son of Sergej Nikiforov scrutinized his men, who had gathered in the living room of their safe house and now witnessed his appearance in religious silence.

Viktor picked up his knife, slipped it in a flurry of metal into the pocket of pants that fell on his slender figure so perfectly one could think they had been tailor-made for him. Which they probably were, just as the polished black shoes at his feet.

Then Viktor took the ring.

Put it on.

_Buran._

Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov faced his men as the curtains of the window behind him danced in the wind.

_Buran’s blowing._

It was Yakov who finally moved. He stepped forward, and knelt.

“We are at your orders, _Papa_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mama Sibir= Mother Siberia


	4. Finale - Buran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Living Legend comes back to reclaim what is his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on characters' names/nicknames/diminutives and so on:
> 
> Viktor might be referred to as -  
> 1\. Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov (full name)  
> 2\. formal names: Viktor Sergeevich (with patronymic) or Viktor Nikiforov (with surname)  
> 3\. diminutives: Vitja (russian nickname), Vik (used mostly by Chris, who speaks Russian but maintains 'european' nicknaming habits)  
> 4\. nicknames by which he's known on the organized crime scene: Knife Boy (older one), Living Legend
> 
> Viktor's father (Sergeij "Sephiroth" Nikiforov):  
> 1\. Sergeij Nikiforov (full name, no patronymic present as nothing is know of his father)  
> 2\. Sephiroth (nickname coming from his KGB days)
> 
> Genesis (Sephiroth's kinda official partner):  
> 1\. Arkadij Valentjnovjch Leshenko (full name, including patronymic, which he rarely uses)  
> 2\. Genesis Rhapsodos (alias he started using after leaving the Army)-
> 
> \---  
> Some organized crime references (most of which were googled):  
> Triad - the largest crime syndicate in China  
> Mountain Master - the title given to the boss of the Triad  
> (Solntsevskaja) Bratva - the largest Russian crime syndicate  
> Pakhan - the boss of the bratva

_The pawn is now a queen_

_He's moved across the board unseen_

_The move is down_

 

 

“You know what I find really scary, Boris?”

“What?”

“How the hell did Vi- I mean, the _Papa_ … where the fuck did he get those clothes? He surely had never dressed like that?”

The older man shrugged.

“Apparently, he had them made some time ago. Giacometti says he always kept a change like that at the ready, come need of it.”

“See, that’s what I mean. How could he tell that he would need them at all? In Detroit, of all places? Creepy.”

“Thinking in advance, Redhead. That’s what makes Viktor Sergeevich a leader, and you and me just cannon fodder. Think about it, next time you are around our pakhan.” 

\---

“We are going home.”

Yakov and Chris nodded as they stood in front of the big armchair that was the centre around which the furniture of the living room had been designed -the armchair that had never been occupied before, as Sephiroth had never visited that particular house in the suburbs of Detroit; the armchair in which Viktor now sat. The pakhan’s chair.

“Chris, I need you to secure a way to the airport. The town is swarming with yellows, but we still have allies here. Capitalize on our network, contact the Mexicans. We can enlist that motorcycle club chapter as well, the Sons. I’m sure they can appreciate Russian weaponry.”

Yakov nodded. “I’ll find a flight to Moscow.”

“No.”

“Uh? I thought you said we were going home, Vik.” Chris raised his eyebrows.

“Exactly. Book a flight, Yakov, Petersburg-bound.”

The bracelet on Viktor’s wrist clinked, the one reading _Sankt-Peterburg_.

_Your gift to me, father. My city. My kingdom._

Viktor felt his old mentor’s eyes piercing through him and he held his gaze.

_The bratva is going to change._

My _bratva._

The ring shone on Viktor’s finger.

“…Yes, _Papa_.” Yakov complied. “We’ll follow you wherever you decide to go.”

Viktor’s eyes moved to Sasha.

“And you, Lightning? Are you with us?”

 _“_ _One day, Viktor will be sitting in my chair. He will be pakhan._ _And you, Sasha? Where will you be, when the time comes?_ _”_

Sasha brought her closed fist to her heart.

“I am General Sephiroth’s man. With his ring, you inherited me as well.”

\---

Rumour had it that Sergeij “Sephiroth” Nikiforov was done for. Rumour had it that he had surrendered himself as the police cornered him in the Kindred Soul Community Hospital in Moscow, caught red-handed in the middle of an exchange of black-market organs.

Rumour had it that Viktor Nikiforov was dead, butchered in Detroit together with Yakov Feltsman, the last representative of the line which had ruled the bratva until Boris Feltsman had chosen the rising star Sephiroth over his own cousin Yakov as the heir to the pakhan’s title.

Rumour, in Moscow, had it that the Solntsevskaja Bratva was exhaling its last breath, a snake’s body writhing in death with its head cut off.

Then, another rumour started circulating, that Mari Katsuki, by ways of her men still stationed in the Russian capital, had set bounty hunters loose for Chris Giacometti, Viktor Nikiforov’s bodyguard.

Rumour, in St. Petersburg, the city that had seen the Knife Boy rise like a shooting star, had it that the Living Legend was still as his most recent nickname described him, very much alive.

\---

“You know, Vik, if we keep laying low like this a little longer, people will start showing up who say they are you… you know, like a mafia version of Anastasia. Wouldn’t that be cool? They might even make a movie out of it eventually.”

Viktor grinned at Chris as they sipped tea from their cups in their hideout in the suburbs of St. Petersburg.

It was a far shot from the riches they were used to, not even close to the house they retreated to in Detroit, which, albeit richly-furnished, was nothing compared to the mansion on the Neva Viktor and his entourage usually occupied.

But it served Viktor’s purpose well.

“Let the folk talk. Let those yellows bang their heads against the Russians’ love for romantic mysteries in a good criminal story.”

“The fun thing is, they’re mostly searching for you in Moscow.”

“Tch. Yellowfaces.”

“Viktor!” Yakov entered the room and quickly bowed to kiss the ring on Viktor’s right hand. “ _Papa_. We just received word from Lightning. Konovalov just agreed to let the shipments to Detroit continue as per the agreement with the Jis.”

“Ah. A traitor, then, selling himself off to the Chinese.”

Yakov frowned.

“The Konovalov family has been working for us for decades. I can’t believe they would…”

“The queen bee is dead and her subjects are struggling for a way to survive. Fjodor Artjomovich is young and ambitious, no wonder he’s trying to get on the winner’s side. But who knows, perhaps his sister Vasilisa would be more keen to follow the path of honour and loyalty.”

“Well, the two Konovalovs have been at odds for quite some time. They’re like the sun and the moon, really. Fat young Fjodor and his older sister, the twig.”

“Wouldn’t _you_ know that, Chris.” Viktor chuckled.

“Mhm.”

“Don’t worry, I know she’s not your type. Even though you probably are hers.”

“Alright, she’s not _that_ old. I guess I can handle her pretty well if need be.”

Viktor nodded.

“Only as far as it’s really necessary, Chris. We have no need for an overkill.”

“Got it.”

With a last tip of his head, Christophe Giacometti left the room.

Viktor rose from his chair.

“I’m going out, too.”

\---

There were parts of St. Petersburg normal people avoided like the plague. Whole neighbourhoods local workers skirted around when coming home from their offices, factories, shops, whatever place they struggled in to make honest money.

Those streets, now, were swarming with Chinese. Oh, not as many as in Detroit, sure, but after the recent events one yellowface on his turf was already one yellowface too much, in Viktor’s opinion. All in all, however, it wasn’t so hard avoiding them, not when one knew those neighbourhoods as well as he did.

Oh, yes, Viktor Nikiforov knew those streets like the back of his hand, had learned to know them ever since he first strolled through those them to get to the Podkova, where, barely nineteen, he had started his first little business of clandestine fights.

The owner of the bar, Ekaterina, or Mama Katjusha as most regulars called her, a thin woman of medium height in her late eighties, who fancied traditional dresses just as much as she fancied Viktor’s own favourite brand of vodka, brought an old man his beer on a tray she held with frail, yet incredibly firm hands.

“There you go, Nikolaj Ivanovich. You’re lucky, I have been serving this brand a lot lately, yesterday night I almost ran out.”

“Mh, I thought your usual customers mostly came in for the vodka, Ekaterina Stepanovna.”

“Haven’t seen much of them these last few weeks. Mostly Asians, and they seem to have a preference for beer.”

“Perhaps you should start stacking more beer then, _Mama_ , if this is the trend.” The man sighed.

“Well, I very much hope it is not. I don’t like tourists.”

“Tourists?”

“Those yellowfaces won’t stay here long. Haven’t you heard the rumours?” Ekaterina lowered her voice. “The boy is coming back.”

“I thought the current vulgate is that Viktor Nikiforov is dead.”

“As if! That’s our Knife Boy we’re talking about, darling. He ain’t dead, not by a long shot.”

The man named Nikolaj took a sip from his beer, letting the old woman continue.

“Of course, some idiots have started selling his things away already. Those yellows are trying to buy out everything that has the name ‘Nikiforov’ on it, even this old, rotten place. But let this old woman tell you one thing, Nikolaj Ivanovich. Viktor Nikiforov is in Petersburg. He’s here, biding his time, hiding… but people like me, like you… we can tell him apart just by the click-clack of that knife he always carries.”

Mama Katjusha eyed the figure that had appeared in the shadow of the doorstep, a slender male not yet in his thirties, dressed in a simple yet elegant suit, whose face remained mostly hidden under his fedora hat. The knife in his hand kept dancing, click-clack, click-clack, as the man flashed a smile at the old woman.

“And when he finally comes back, he will be like the Buran. He will blow all those yellowfaces away, back in the shitholes they came from, and with them all those traitors that make this city smell like rot. Oh, it will be like winter’s descent, the time of purification!”

“Oi! What are you blabbering about, old hag?” came a young voice from the doorstep, carrying all the anger of a fifteen-year-old who decided it was time to wage war on the world.

Mama Katjusha’s mouth opened in a smile at the sight of the young boy.

“Perhaps you want to pay a little more attention to your surroundings, Yurotchka.”

It was then that the boy registered the sound of a butterfly knife opening behind him and he quickly made a 180-degree turn, taking out the gun he kept in the back of his pants and aiming it at the man behind him.

Then, as soon as his eyes really took in the figure, he let the gun drop and his eyes went the size of saucers.

“You’re Viktor Nikiforov!”

Viktor laughed and clapped happily.

“Congratulations, _malysh [boy]_ , you’re the only one who recognized me at first sight out there in the streets! I never saw this one before, _Mama_. He’s quick, even though he carries an empty gun.”

The boy’s cheeks went a deep shade of red.

“What’s your name, _malysh_?”

“I’m Yurij Plisetskij.” The boy growled. “And you can mock me for my empty gun now, but one day I’m gonna be a _vor v zakone_!”

“Kid’s wanted to join your group for a while, Vitjusha.” Mama Katjusha butted in.

“Mmh, really?” Viktor brought his index finger to his chin, studying the boy. “Say, Yurij, how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“So young, and already thinking of joining the bratva’s ranks?”

“ _Your_ ranks. I want to be part of your guard. I’m good with guns, and rifles too. Grandpa taught me.”

The old man with the beer got up from his chair.

“Yurotchka, don’t inconvenience the pakhan.”

“Wha-?”

“Haven’t you noticed the ring on his finger?” Nikolaj joined Yurij, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. Then, he took Viktor’s gloved hand, and kissed it on the bulge on his index finger. “ _Papa_. I apologize for my nephew. He has been admiring you from afar for years.”

Viktor smiled.

“Nikolaj Plisetskij. I was planning on paying your shop a visit before heading to my destination for tonight, but alas, you’re here. My knives need sharpening, my old friend.”

“I’ll be happy to serve you as always, _Papa_. You’ll have them ready in a hour.”

“Thanks, old friend. And no need for such formalities, not between us.”

Viktor hugged the old weapon dealer, kissed him thrice on the cheeks.

“It’s good to have you back, Viktor Sergeevich.”

“It’s good to be back.”

Then, the pakhan turned his attention to the boy.

“So Yurij, you say you’re good with rifles. Why don’t you show me what you’re capable of while your grandfather takes care of my knives? And if I like it, I’ll let you join me tonight. I plan on crashing a party, and I swear it on my father’s name” Viktor looked Mama Katjusha straight in the eyes “it will be like the Buran.”

\---

Viktor swam across the main dance floor of the Emperor, one of the biggest nightclubs in St. Petersburg, the one that had always been the young Nikiforov’s favourite hunting ground when searching for a night of fun, not to mention one of his favoured locations for conducting business.

And to think Fjodor Artjomovich Konovalov had chosen precisely that place, precisely that V.I.P. lounge, for his meeting with Feng Xue.

Master Ji had not dignified the meeting with his presence, and this, in addition to pissing off the wannabe mafia leader, served Viktor’s purposes well.

Revenge, they said, was a dish best served cold.

There would be time to exact vengeance on the Triad’s Mountain Master, to start a game of chess that would in the end bring old Ji to his knees.

Now, however, was not the time.

This was the stage of Viktor’s return from death. And he had chosen to stage it with the help of one specific fastidious little fly.

“Now, my comrade Feng Xue, I believe all has been set out extremely well, and to the benefit of both my family and your venerable organization.” Fjodor Konovalov said over the sound of the loud music, lifting his glass of champagne. “So let us toast, to the success of our new business!”

“To our deal!”

“ _Za vashe zdorovje [To your health]!_ ”

Konovalov and Feng Xue froze, their glasses still up in the air, studying the slender figure of a man in his mid-twenties approaching them, trying to piece together what they were seeing.

Then the men took off his hat, and silver hair shone under the disco lights.

It was the Chinese who recognized him first.

“Nikiforov…”

“I must congratulate you, Feng Xue, and your Master of course. It was all perfectly executed.” Viktor said as he stepped forward, slowly clapping his hands, his face animated by a wide grin that was almost suave in its devilishness. “And you, Fedja, my old friend. It’s not for anyone, managing to stay afloat when all other ships are sinking in the maelstrom.”

“V- viktor, I-”

“Ah-ah.” Chris interjected, appearing behind Viktor. “That’s not how you should address him anymore.”

Konovalov stilled, then his eyes fell on Viktor’s right hand and his knees suddenly turned to jelly.

“ _Papa_ … _Papa_!” He threw himself on his knees, grabbing Viktor’s hand and kissing the ring on his index finger almost fervently. “ _Papa_ , let this poor man explain himself!”

“Treachery needs not explaining, you fat bag of shi-”

“Yaaaakov.” Viktor’s voice was almost a whisper as he raised his left hand, his right one still in Konovalov’s feverish clutch. “Ssh. Now it’s not the time.”

Feng Xue tried taking a step back. He was stopped by the rifle Lightning was pointing at his back as Viktor advanced, his index finger teasing his lower lip.

“You see, Feng Xue, I was starting to enjoy the weather in Detroit. Much warmer. But then the Buran blew, the Siberian wind, and it started calling me back. And who am I to resist the call of our Great Motherland?”

“…You can’t win this war, Nikiforov.”

“The game has just begun, old friend, this is but my opening move. A shame you won’t live long enough to see the end of it.”

Feng Xue spitted at the pakhan’s feet.

Viktor’s smile widened.

“Chris, Sasha. Do it.”

This time, as Viktor heard the Kalashnikovs open fire, he kept his eyes open, and stood in the middle of it all.

Then, while the gunfire resounded loudly on the dancefloor, putting the music to rest, Viktor threw Fjodor Konovalov back on the table he had been occupying, and started playing with him.

And it was only after Konovalov’s laments had filled the club, in the silent aftermath of the shooting, only after Viktor had peeled the flesh of Konovalov’s chubby fingers off his bones, chunk by little chunk, humming contentedly as if he was an artist carving wood, that Viktor dragged the agonizing creature -for really, that was not a man anymore, had stopped being human halfway through Viktor’s little game- in the centre of the dance floor, amidst the bodies that had fallen there.

And as Viktor Sergeevich Nikiforov slit the traitor’s throat open and stood in the middle of the carnage, covered in blood, Yurij Plisetskij’s voice rang in the silence of the room.

“Behold the Living Legend, you fuckers! He’s our pakhan! The pakhan in St. Petersburg!”

 

_Now's not the time to sleep_

_There are still nights to keep_

_Chances are there to take_

_Now it is time to_

_Awaken_

_Awaken_

_Awaken_

 

“It’s been a while, brother.”

“Mari-oneesan!”

“I’m sorry I have to ask you this when your training with Minako is not yet complete, Yuuri, but I need you to come home. I have a job for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits:  
> \- beginning: Savatage - Commissar  
> \- ending: Savatage - Awaken  
> The Podkova and Mama Katjusha were inspired by this Russian restaurant my boyfriend took me to for my birthday (it was like livin' the Mafia AU dream, guys, sooooo beautiful!!). Also, her name is a tribute to a character of N. Lilin's Siberian Education, which has been an important source of lore for this AU.

**Author's Note:**

> Lighting was first based on THAT ONE Lighting from FFXIII, yes. Then I decided to give her role to my friend Ruby's OC (she will also cosplay as her sooner or later and I am so terribly excited and honoured tbh), because she deserved it after spending nights after nights hearing about my rants on this AU (plus she is responsible for co-creating the background history for Seph and Gen). She still kept the nickname though.  
> Also yes, I am still waiting for the FFVII fandom to come after my sorry ass for using Sephiroth as Vik's father. They are right. I am (not really) sorry. Honestly, the resemblance is uncanny.  
> Of course, if you have any thoughts, feedback or just wanna have a chat, review, or hit me on Tumbrl (@mombuchika)! Let me know what you think of this!  
> Song credits: Nightwish - 7 Days to the Wolves


End file.
